


Counterpoint

by Carrigan



Series: yet we move forward, still [1]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Bottom Zayn, Dom/sub Undertones, Established Relationship, Lingerie, M/M, Porn with Feelings, Riding, Topping from the Bottom, Zayn in Lingerie, post march 25th
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-08
Updated: 2016-09-08
Packaged: 2018-08-13 22:14:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,540
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7988023
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Carrigan/pseuds/Carrigan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"In music, counterpoint is the relationship between voices that are harmonically interdependent (polyphony) yet independent in rhythm and contour."</p><p>Or, Zayn and Liam are two complicated and slightly dysfunctional people trying to craft an uncomplicated and functional relationship.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Counterpoint

**Author's Note:**

> So, I have no excuse for this. I had some prompts, and while trying to create full stories for them, I stumbled upon this instead. It is shameless self-indulgence, and basically a dissertation of a healthy and loving Ziam relationship.

“Don’t laugh, okay?”

Zayn’s voice is slightly muffled through the bathroom door, but Liam can still hear his hesitancy. Liam tosses his phone onto the nightstand next to the bed, where he’s been scrolling through his Instagram feed for the past fifteen minutes. They’d planned this night together, and talked extensively about their expectations and what was going to happen. But if Zayn is having second thoughts then Liam doesn’t want to push him.

“Listen, babe, you know I’d love you even if you were wearing a load of rubbish taped together, but we don’t have to do this right now. Maybe -”

“No!” Zayn interrupts him, and his voice is sharp when he cuts off Liam’s suggestion to wait. “No,” he continues, voice soft and low, “I want to, just, don’t laugh? Okay?” His accent is drawling and he’s elongating his vowels in the way he does when he’s nervous, and Liam’s heart pangs a little in his chest.

“I’d never,” Liam says, and his voice sounds too loud and serious in his own ears. He knows, possibly better than anyone, about the self-consciousness and the doubt that still creeps up on Zayn, and Liam never wants to make a joke of him feeling safe and comfortable. “I’d never laugh at you. Not when it matters.”

Liam can hear Zayn’s feet shuffling on the tile floor, and the ‘click’ of the door unlocking resonates through the bedroom. His eyes are glued to the door as he waits for Zayn to come out, but he’s met with more silence. He’s about to ask Zayn again if everything is okay, but before he can Zayn makes another request.

“What if you, like, close your eyes maybe?”

Liam blinks in surprise, but dutifully covers his eyes with his hand. He’d learned early on that Zayn likes to do things at his own pace and in his own way, and Liam is more than happy to oblige. It’s a thing with Zayn. Not a hang-up, as Zayn likes to call it, and more of a necessity. He requires a specific level of control in his life after spending so many years feeling like he had none, and Liam is quick to accommodate him.

The door creaks when it opens, and the noise is grating and sudden in the wake of the quiet they’ve established. It’s followed by the sound of Zayn’s feet dragging against the carpet, and Liam can’t help but smile picturing him, probably digging his toes into the plush of the carpet and wringing his hands. A fondness wells up in Liam at that moment, as he sits on the edge of their bed with his eyes closed, waiting for Zayn to tell him what to do.

They spent so many years trying to pretend to be people they weren’t, that even during moments like these when they’re guiding each other through new experiences, it fills Liam with warmth to know that he’s getting Zayn. Not “Media Zayn” or “Stage Zayn” - just Zayn. Shy, awkward, adorably uncertain Zayn, who after all this time still gets intimidated by his own desires. There’s no better feeling, Liam thinks, than knowing that he gets to love him as a whole person. That he gets to see and appreciate all his parts, even the ones Zayn doesn’t show to the world.

“You’ve got them closed, yeah?” Zayn’s voice is clearer now that they’re in the same room, and there’s a shiver in his words like he’s been out in the cold too long. Liam holds his hands up in the air, showing off his closed eyes, then beckons Zayn forward with outstretched hands.

Liam can hear a gentle swish of fabric as Zayn steps towards him, and there’s a tickle on his face as what Liam thinks is a sleeve brushes his cheek. Zayn’s fingers trace lightly over the soft skin under Liam’s eyes, and it’s instinct that has him turning his face into Zayn’s hand, pressing his cheek into the the warm skin of Zayn’s palm. The flirtatious playfulness that Zayn has always brought out of him rears up, and Liam opens up his mouth to draw Zayn’s thumb in between his teeth and nip lightly.

It has the desired effect, and Zayn huffs out a laugh and pulls his hand away. The fabric brushes over Liam’s face again as Zayn reaches up to tug at his hair, then scratches his dull nails over Liam’s scalp. The pressure that was stifling Zayn seems to have dissipated, and it eases Liam’s own nerves to feel him relaxing.

“Behave,” Zayn mumbles, amusement curling around his words. “And keep your eyes closed.”  
Zayn grabs Liam’s hands and maneuvers them until they’re resting on a fabric-covered part of his body that Liam instantly recognizes as his slim hips. Liam doesn’t know much about fabrics, but he figures it must be silk with the way his fingertips glide over intricate-feeling designs. The delicacy startles him, and the robe (Liam thinks it’s a robe) is so thin in some parts that Liam can feel the warmth of Zayn’s bare skin through it.

Zayn must see Liam’s eyelids flutter as he struggles to keep his eyes closed, which gets him another warning not to look. Liam nods, already slightly delirious with the punchdrunk giddiness that takes over his senses when he touches Zayn. He leans forward, head still bobbing in a disjointed nod, and noses into the silk covering Zayn’s skin. He wraps his arms around Zayn’s middle and succeeds in pulling him in closer, but it doesn’t feel close enough. There’s still too much distance, too many centimeters between them, even now as Liam mouths along the lace and silk covering Zayn’s stomach.

“I’ve missed you,” Liam says, and the words are quiet and almost indistinguishable even to himself. The silk feels smooth against his lips, and he trails his mouth higher and higher until he reaches the slightest strip of bare skin, right where the robe dips open. He presses a kiss there, reacquainting himself with the taste of Zayn’s skin, and his insides tremble when he hears a faint hitch in Zayn’s breath.

“I missed you too,” Zayn says in turn, and places a hand on the back of Liam’s neck. Liam hums in satisfaction, nuzzling the dip of the robe open wider and revelling in the familiar planes of Zayn’s ribs. “I missed having your hands on me,” he continues, burying his fingers in the short hairs at the base of Liam’s neck. “I watched that interview you did, the one where you couldn’t stop fiddling with that pillow? And I know it’s silly, but I pictured it was me, like. Imagined that you were here, touching me like that, pressing into me.”

Liam’s breath escapes him. It’s not quite a moan and not quite a gasp, more so just Zayn stealing the air from his lungs with the way he can so casually yet bluntly states what he wants. No one else could ever make Liam feel like this, feel so involved in the easygoing sensuality of a person without even seeing them. It amazes him, sometimes, how much he loves Zayn and is in love with Zayn and wants to please him and pleasure him.

“You can look now,” Zayn says, tugging at Liam’s hair again, and for a second Liam is afraid to. Because when they’d first discussed this, while Zayn was in LA and Liam was finishing up the last shows of the tour, he’d tried not to let on just how much the idea excited him. During the conversation he’d aimed for nonchalance, unphased by this new development and only wanting what made Zayn feel good. But as soon as they’d said their goodbyes and ended the call, Liam was pulling his cock out and fucking into his fist. Just the thought of Zayn dressed in sheer lace and silken fabrics had him coming in his hotel bed within minutes.

Liam hadn’t wanted to overwhelm Zayn or pressure him, but he knows now that there is no chance he fake a composed demeanor. He does moan this time, when he opens his eyes and tries to take in the sight of Zayn all at once. He’s a vision, draped all in black silk and lace, and the robe looks just as delicate as he’d imagined.

Liam pulls back, drinking in the way the way the tied robe accentuates his slight waist and highlights the broadness of his shoulders. The inkiness of the robe is offset by a small shimmer and shine at his chest, but otherwise it’s like he’s covered himself in liquid shadows that took the form of fancy embroideries. The laciness clings to his skin then falls open to slits that are cut high on the sides, revealing the slightest band of tattooed skin underneath when Zayn shifts.

Zayn watches silently as Liam explores with his eyes, rubbing a hand up Zayn’s thigh and appreciating the tableau of his tattoos that plays out underneath the lace. It’s like a second layer of designs printed directly on his skin, trailing ink embellishments underneath the flowy lace ones.

“Well?” Zayn interrupts Liam’s staring, and gestures with one hand to the robe. “You gonna take it off or what?” He cocks his head to the side and raises his eyebrow in question. His bravado is slightly affected, but the allure he exudes and the natural sexiness he carries with him on a daily basis are both very real and very fascinating.

Liam pulls at the robe tie, done up in a clean and symmetrical bow that Zayn probably re-tied ten times before he was satisfied with it. He tugs it loose, and the simple sound of the fabric rubbing together ignites something deep in his belly. This first step of undressing Zayn brings with it a private intimacy, like inviting the person who thought they’d seen all of you to see even more.

Glimpsing what’s underneath the robe is somehow both exactly and nothing like what Liam expected. The open robe frames Zayn’s body like a dripping curtain of black, and he peers down at Liam with intense eyes. When they’d talked about Zayn dressing up, Liam had pictured what most men do when they think of lingerie: Victoria’s Secret, push up bras, and tiny panties. Simply put, he’d thought it’d just be Zayn in women's’ underthings.

This is not that.

The bra seems like hardly a bra it all; it’s got none of the wires or padding like regular bras he’d seen on women. Its sheer fabric is interjected with whimsical and shiny silver designs, curving across his nipples and down the valley of Zayn’s chest. The thin straps look creamy against his skin that’s gone pale in the winter months, and the black band is snug against his ribcage. His tattoo is mounted perfectly over the form-fitting tightness of the bra, and Liam takes a second to just watch the movement of Zayn’s chest as he breathes in and out.

Liam’s places his hands on Zayn’s bare hips and lets his thumbs catch in the waistband of Zayn’s shorts. They’re so regularly shaped that they could be his normal boxers, if not for the fact they they are comprised entirely of floral see-through lace. The shorts barely contain Zayn’s hardening cock, and coupled with his balls pressing up against the cotton, Liam feels like a voyeur being treated to a sight of too much and not enough.

Most everyone knows that Zayn is the visual artist in the relationship, but Liam can’t help but wish he could grab a piece of the charcoal that Zayn is currently obsessed with and sketch out a drawing of the lacy flowers silhouetted against Zayn’s cock. He wants to preserve this image of Zayn, raw and unfiltered and immeasurably seductive.

It’s not what he’d expected, but it’s everything and more than what he could have possibly imagined, and perfectly suited to every part of Zayn’s being. A passionate mix of delicacy and sultriness, provocative yet balanced, with signs of both careful planning and spontaneous desire.

“I can take it off?” Liam asks, breaking the ongoing silence and connecting his gaze with Zayn’s. His breath hitches when Zayn nods, and Liam feels like he’s being granted some magnificent honor, being able to take Zayn’s robe off. And he supposes in a way it is. Being as lucky as Liam is, to be allowed into Zayn’s life in these unbelievable ways, is a form of magnificence all on its own.

Liam stands up, circling around Zayn and taking in the view of his body all the while, and Zayn trails him with his eyes. Zayn’s head is turned to the side, but Liam is standing just out of his field of vision, positioned directly behind him.

Close, but not close enough.

Liam runs his hands slowly down Zayn’s arms, rubbing along the lean muscle, then back up to feel the thick silk covering Zayn’s shoulders. He peels it off carefully, acutely aware of its delicacy and expensiveness, and how much time Zayn must have spent picking it out, searching for the perfect piece. It doesn’t seem right to just let it crumple on their bedroom floor, so he takes a moment to lay it across the leather armchair in the corner. While he’s there he pulls off his own shirt and trousers, not wanting to waste time later fumbling with undressing himself, and tosses them on the floor.

When he comes back Zayn’s back is still turned, muscles shifting and shoulders rolling as he waits for Liam. He’s struck, for a few breathless seconds, at how easy this feels. At how simply each moment moves into the next, with the trust and support that had felt like an impossible task when they were younger. But it seems so effortless now, being secure and content - being in a relationship.

Before Zayn left the band, when everyone was looking over their shoulder for the “Gotcha!” that was going to jump out and catch them all by surprise, it was like Liam and Zayn couldn’t get the pieces of themselves to fit together like they had in earlier years. Their words grated and their frustrations piqued, and afterwards Liam was torn between resenting Zayn for wanting out, and hating himself for being unable to let him go.

It’s funny, in an ironic kind of way, how he’d boasted about being the person in the world besides Zayn’s mum who knew him best, yet was the most blindsided when Zayn called him at three AM and said he was going home. Said he wasn’t coming back. Or rather, Liam can laugh about it self-deprecatingly now. In the moment it’d felt quite like dying, or having his soul ripped out, or being shot in the heart.

He’d been fairly descriptive when he’d cried on the phone to his mum about it.

But here they are now, not just existing in the same city as ex-bandmates, or floating around each other in some unfulfilling “friends with benefits” routine. They’re together, “together-together” as Liam had put it when he’d introduced Zayn to his parents for the first time as “Zayn the Boyfriend” and not “Zayn the Bandmate.” It’s good, and it works for them, and it’s times like these when he doesn’t mind as much that it took them five goddamn years to get it right.

“God, I love you so much,” Liam whispers, placing his hands back on Zayn’s hips and speaking the words directly into Zayn’s skin. He kisses into the fantail, little kittenish pecks that cause a flush to run down the back of Zayn’s neck. Liam nuzzles at the blush reverently, and tries to use his body to relay the awe he feels in Zayn’s presence.

Liam’s teeth find the crook of Zayn’s neck, and he nips at the tender skin there. Zayn moans, and Liam can feel the reverberations of it through his mouth as he soothes the grazed area with his tongue. His teeth find hold of Zayn’s delicate skin again, and Liam is exhilarated at the thought of the marks he’ll leave behind.

Zayn had once likened the marks to an Olympian biting their gold medal, but Liam had protested the analogy. Zayn wasn’t a token or award he’d won. The bites, he’d explained somewhat embarrassedly, were more like his way of taking root in Zayn’s skin. It was an opportunity to ground them both in the moment, and exhibit the most base of his desires. A concrete and physical reaffirmation of their relationship.

A tangible manifestation of his existence in Zayn’s life and vice versa, bonding their bodies together and connecting them with a real and visible tie.

Zayn had blushed and snorted when Liam had said it, during one of their many Skype conversations while the band was off on their promo tour. But the fondness in his face was obvious, and Liam reminds him of this now. He tells him how lucky he feels to have Zayn in his life, and how he can hardly believe this is real. That sometimes he thinks he doesn’t deserve all of this, but he’s still going to try his best to make Zayn happy.

Zayn trembles at his words, and Liam rubs his hands over the lean muscles of his abs, soothing his shivers. It’s gratifying, to pull these reactions out of Zayn. It was a point of contention for so long, with Liam wondering if Zayn really felt the same way. He’d grown up thinking that people in love showed it, and if there weren’t public declarations to go along with the public displays of affection, then was it even real?

If only the two of you know about it, behind closed doors, does it really exist?

Lately, Liam has dedicated himself to noticing the little things. Like how in this moment, Zayn’s head dips down when he lets out a sweet, satisfied sigh. The way he leans back, knowing that Liam will support his weight. It’s in the tiny, missable signs that Zayn shows his love. In the small things that used to seem fleeting, but carry the traces of the words Zayn can’t always say.

Zayn turns in Liam’s arms, pressing their chests together and wrapping his arms around Liam’s neck. It’s hard not to stare at Zayn, whether he’s in lingerie or not, but Liam doesn’t get the opportunity this time. There’s hardly a second’s pause before Zayn’s closing his eyes, eyelashes dusting his cheeks, and they’re kissing properly for the first time tonight.

It’s deep and long, and for all Liam knows they spend hours like this, moaning into each other’s mouths and clinging to each other. Liam has the strangest thought, in the middle of trailing his hands down Zayn’s back to cup his ass through the shorts, that this was the real purpose of all those breath control exercises he’d done.

Liam’s hands dip underneath the shorts and grip onto Zayn’s bare skin. Liam is rewarded with a groan when his grip lifts Zayn, just an inch or two, until he’s up on his tiptoes. One of his hands grips Liam’s shoulder, and he huffs out a laugh. He’s so soft when Liam looks at him now, unburdened and happy, and there’s a definite sense of pride in being able to put a smile on Zayn’s face.

Liam nudges their bodies backwards towards the bed, hands still pushing up under Zayn’s shorts, until Zayn’s knees hit the edge of the bed. Their usual routine would have Liam pressing Zayn down into the bed, but before he can Zayn stops them with a hand on Liam’s chest.

“Wait,” he says, and Liam pulls back. Zayn’s lips are red and shining, and he’s panting slightly when he continues. “Remember that summer we spent on the tour bus, fucking in our bunk? And it was so cramped that the only way we could get off was me sitting on your cock?” There’s a flush over his nose now, like a sunrise blooming over his cheeks, and Liam wants to kiss it.

Liam nods, and follows Zayn’s lead when he turns their bodies again. Zayn pushes him back until he’s flopping onto the bed and scooting up so his legs aren’t hanging off the bed. Zayn is quick to follow him, crawling onto the bed on his hands and knees. His eyes are bright and there’s mischief in his smirk, and Liam can already guess where Zayn is about to go with this.

Zayn positions himself over Liam’s body, bracing himself on his arms. His gel-sculpted hair is starting to fall out of place, and when he leans in close enough Liam can feel a whisper of one long strand ghosting over his cheek. But Zayn bypasses his lips, and leans over Liam to grab lube from the nightstand drawer.

He sits up, balanced on his knees and just out of Liam’s reach. Zayn’s chest is heaving and his tongue is pressed up against the back of his teeth as he fiddles with the bottle and cocks his head to the side. He’d look all the part of sultry vixen, with his lacy boxers on and sweat beginning to pool in the valley of his chest underneath the sheer bra, if not for the giddiness he exudes at having Liam’s eyes on him.

“I used to get myself ready for you,” Zayn says, bottle of lube in one hand and while he pushes down his shorts with the other. He tugs them off completely and Liam’s head is reeling, trying to keep up with Zayn’s words while watching him strip. “Wouldn’t let you help,” he continues, sucking his plump bottom lip in between his teeth for a second and biting it, “Just made you watch. And we’d have to be so quiet, and not make any noise. Well,” he says, fitting a dry hand around his cock and tugging lightly, letting out a soft moan, “At least we don’t have to be quiet anymore.”

His cock is hard and flushed a beautiful dusky pink when he fists it, grip loose and fast just the way Liam remembers. Their frantic Skype sex sessions hadn’t hardly done Zayn justice, not with the way more of his hair shakes loose and falls across his cheeks when he tosses his head back, and how the strong lines of his neck lead down to his relaxed shoulders.

Liam wants to touch, wants to hear the noises Zayn makes when it’s Liam’s much larger hand wrapped around his cock. He reaches out a hand to try and rub it along Zayn’s thigh, but Zayn is too quick. He’s looking down at Liam while his lashes frame his face, and silently pushes Liam’s hand away. He doesn’t say anything, usually never has to. He just gives Liam the look he’s become all too acquainted with.

One raised eyebrow, with his hand slowing on his cock, and Liam’s retracting his hand. He knows the rules, and he knows the way Zayn likes to do things. Zayn will have his fun, make Liam watch, and then he’ll let Liam join in when he’s ready - but not a moment sooner.

He’s shuffling forward on his knees after letting go of his cock, until his knees are braced on the outside of Liam’s thighs. Zayn is smiling down at Liam again as he pops open the cap on the lube one hand, cock bobbing as it hovers just over Liam’s belly, then begins slicking up his fingers.

Zayn leans forward, using his clean hand to brace himself on Liam’s chest, and starts pressing one finger into himself. Liam’s hands are gripped into the pillow underneath his head, and while he misses the sight of watching the finger enter Zayn, he can’t complain when this angle means he gets to see Zayn’s face. He frowns and his eyes fall closed, and Liam is transfixed by the motions of his throat when he groans.

He’s eager, quickly pressing a second finger in as his other hand tangles in Liam’s chest hair. Zayn’s thighs are already quivering, and Liam so badly wants feel the tensing of Zayn’s muscles under his hands. As if he senses Liam’s thoughts, Zayn’s eyes open again, tongue poking out of the side of his mouth as he looks down.

Zayn leans in even closer, draping his body over Liam’s. Close enough that Liam can feel the heat radiating off of Zayn as he moans, and the warmth of his breath when it puffs out over Liam’s ear.

Liam turns his head to watch as Zayn presses his face into the crook of his elbow. It muffles the sound of his next groan, but the position drops his hips low enough that as he rides his own fingers, Zayn’s bare cock brushes against Liam’s, still tucked inside his tented boxers. The friction has Zayn moaning high in his throat, and he turns his face into Liam’s neck. His panting is hot and wet on Liam’s skin, and Liam whimpers unabashedly when Zayn tugs at the fleshy part of his earlobe with his teeth.

Zayn pulls away and catches sight of Liam’s eyes squeezed shut. Liam’s hands are at his sides now, gripping the sheets, but Zayn seems unsatisfied with this last grasp at control. He grabs at the long hair on the top of Liam’s head and pulls, forcing them to make eye contact.

He makes Liam watch, makes him stare at his face and be privy to the exact moment Zayn presses a third finger in as his eyelids flutter and his throat clicks. Zayn hovers his lips over Liam’s, testing and pushing his limits, seeing how long Liam can last and how good he can be.

All of a sudden he’s sitting up, and Liam’s chest feels chilly at the loss of warmth. Liam can see that Zayn’s taken his fingers out, and his chest is covered in a thin sheen of sweat. It’s accompanied by the reddening flush of his arousal that sits so prettily underneath the shimmering of the bra.

“Want you in me for the first one,” Zayn says, wasting no time in yanking Liam’s boxers down. It’s like whiplash, and Liam can only groan incredulously as Zayn finally gets a slick hand around his bare cock. He spends only a few seconds making sure he’s coated all of it, before he’s balancing on his knees and guiding the head inside.

“Oh fuck,” Liam mutters, hands pulling the sheets from their neatly tucked creases. Zayn is tight, and the stretch is different compared to when they use three of Liam’s thick fingers versus three of Zayn’s longer and skinnier ones. But it doesn’t stop his slow descent, and his body opens up to take in all of Liam’s length.

“C’mon, get your hands on me,” Zayn pants, and he already sounds slightly out of breath as he grabs at Liam’s hands and puts them on his hips. Liam wastes no time, leaving one hand firmly around Zayn’s waist while the other dips underneath the band of the bra. His hand glides up Zayn’s chest, skin shining with sweat, and he fits his palm over the lips of Zayn’s tattoo. They echo each other’s moans when Liam bucks into him, pushing in even deeper.

They go slow, letting Zayn’s body adjust, and his breaths are quick and shallow. Liam guides Zayn’s movements, using his grip on Zayn’s waist to direct his hips until they get some momentum going. They shift together, moving into a faster rhythm.

Liam can read the signs, from the way Zayn’s hips start to stutter as he tosses his head back and how certains thrusts make his mouth drop open, that he’s getting close. Liam’s hand slides back down Zayn’s chest, and he drags his fingernails over the muscles there just to feel them twitch. He fits his hand around Zayn’s cock, and his grip is hard and fast as he pulls Zayn off.

Zayn doesn’t last much longer, keening high in his throat and clenching so hard around Liam that he sees stars. All his muscles tense, and his body is one long line of pleasure as he digs his nails into Liam’s chest and rides out the waves. He falls silent, collapsing into Liam while his body keeps pressing back, trying to chase the aftershocks.

“C’mon, c’mon,” Zayn whispers. His voice is shaky, and Liam can feel him trembling when he runs a hand up his sweat-slick back. He angles his body to the side, and Liam takes Zayn’s cue and flips their bodies. Zayn looks up at him, eyes glassy and cheeks pink, and wraps his legs around Liam’s waist.

They both shudder at the change in angle, as Liam reaches deep inside of Zayn. Liam presses a kiss to Zayn’s lips, undeniably soft when contrasted with the intensity of the sex they’re having. But Liam doesn’t take it lightly that Zayn trusts him enough to let him take the lead. It means something, when Zayn is willing to give up a measure of control and let Liam guide him.

When he watches Zayn’s face now, as he squirms underneath Liam’s body and grips at his shoulders at every thrust, Liam can’t look away. There’s something so open in his expressions, no stress or obligations other than to make each other feel good, and Liam wishes he could keep that look on Zayn’s face forever.

Their bodies are entwined, skin-to-skin as they move together, and Liam is spurned on by the rub of Zayn’s still-hard cock against his abs. Zayn is writhing in oversensitivity, nails scratching down Liam’s back, and Liam wants nothing more than to fuck him through it. He wants to catalogue every moan and twitch and file them away so that every time he fucks Zayn he finds a new way to make him come.

Zayn is getting close again. Liam can feel it in the way he starts tightening around Liam’s cock, and the way he tries to turn his face away from Liam’s gaze. He wants Liam to look away, wants to hold back now and shove down whatever it is that’s rearing up inside his head, but Liam won’t let him. Zayn drops one of his hands down and tries to cover his face, but Liam thwarts him. He pins Zayn’s wrist above his head, and slows his thrusts.

Liam is grinding into him, deep and slow, interspersed with long thrusts that press hard inside of him. He won’t let Zayn hide, not this time. Not when Liam recognizes the signs of Zayn trying to run away from his own feelings, and not when Liam is so goddamn sick of letting Zayn go.

Liam understands that sometimes it’s overwhelming for Zayn, and that it’s easier for him to escape until it all stops feeling like so much. Zayn had said once, before The Break Up, that being in love with Liam felt like drowning. It’d hurt at the time, and had aggravated every insecurity Liam had about being suffocating and overbearing. But he knows now that it’s about more than Liam. It’s the fear of the unknown, of going under and falling and never resurfacing again.

But the whole point of falling in love is that even if you’re drowning, there’s someone right next to you who’s just as breathless.

“Say it,” Liam grunts, accentuating his words with a particularly accurate thrust. “Say it, I want to hear you say it.” His grip is tight on Zayn’s wrist, while the other grabs high onto Zayn’s thigh. He speeds up his thrusts, forcing Zayn to stay in the moment with him and face what he’s feeling.

Little dots of tears collect at the sides of Zayn's eyes, and Liam leans in to kiss at them. He can taste the salt on his lips, while Zayn squeezes his eyes shut and groans out a hurt-sounding sob deep in his chest.

“Just say it, please, I just want to hear you say it,” Liam whispers, words broken up by his deep thrusts. Liam kisses him again, hard enough that he has to admire the redness of Zayn’s lips when he pulls away.

Liam’s hips start stuttering as he tries to keep up with the pace. He’s panting too now, quick shallow breaths coming out in tandem with his sharp movements of his hips. Neither of them will last much longer, but Liam just wants Zayn to give him this one thing.

Zayn pulls him in with surprising strength, one arm wrapped around the back of Liam’s neck so they’re pressed cheek to cheek. He doesn’t let go, even when Liam can feel the wet slide of tears between their skin. Liam lets him have this, and feels his own throat clog with emotion.

“Please -”

“I love you” Zayn interrupts, voice watery and rough like he’s dragging the words out of himself one by one. “Fuck, I missed you, I missed you so fucking much, and I fucking love you, and I want you here, and I want us. I fucking want all of it,” he babbles out in one long rush. Liam will admit, later, that a few of the tears soaking the pillow after that belong to him.

It’s like a culmination of five years’ worth of exposition pulling together in one moment. Liam had thought about it so many times, about how he’d fuck the words out of Zayn and make him scream, and they’d both come so hard they’d black out.

Instead, when he looks at Zayn’s tear-streaked face staring back at him, Liam just wants to hold him.

They finish slow and sweet, clinging to each other and kissing tears away. Liam comes inside Zayn with one tight fist around Zayn’s cock, moaning into each other’s mouths. It feels unhurried, a far cry from Zayn’s first orgasm, but it feels right. Not a frantic fuck, trying to solidify their relationship or fuck the other into staying. But it was, dare he say, like making love.

Liam says as much when he’s cleaning them both up later, much to Zayn’s disgust.

“Making love, Liam? Really? You make us sound like some fourty year old couple with three kids.” Zayn’s lying leisurely on his back, limbs stretched and relaxed as Liam wipes him off. There’s still a flush riding high over his body that hasn’t quite dissipated, and he looks affronted at Liam’s attempt to “domesticate them.”

Liam balls up the dirty flannel and tosses it into the clothesbin on the other side of the room, and when he turns to Zayn expectantly, Zayn rolls his eyes but dutifully holds his hand out for a congratulatory high five. Liam accepts it with grace, then flops down onto the bed next to Zayn.

He presses a kiss into one of Zayn’s ruddy cheeks, where he’d carefully wiped off all traces of tears. Liam rubs one hand over Zayn’s chest, now bare after they’d set the shorts and the bra on the armchair with the robe. Zayn tries to draw him in with his gangly octopus arms, but before either of them can get too comfortable he rolls back out of the bed to get them something to sleep in.

Zayn pouts, but Liam chuckles and ignores it. If he really caved to every single one of Zayn’s whims, all they’d ever do is eat, sleep, fuck, and smoke. And maybe release the occasional album.

Liam grabs a pair of boxers for himself and puts them on, then takes a minute to smile at their matching drawers filled with underwear. It’s such a simple thing to find joy in, having drawer and closet space at Zayn’s house, but it pleases him nonetheless.

“Do you want boxers,” Liam says, turning to Zayn with a pair in his hand, “Or…” He lets the words trail off and waggles his eyebrows, grinning lasciviously when Zayn snorts.

“Boxers, definitely. That stuff was itchy, like.” His eyes trail away, and he scratches at his chest like he’s remembering the phantom rub of the bra against his skin.

“Aw, poor thing,” Liam replies, returning to the bed and handing Zayn a pair of boxers. Zayn swats at him, and Liam doesn’t bother dodging it.

“Don’t fuck around,” Zayn says, bouncing the bed while he pulls on his boxers. Liam is sad to see the sight of his bare skin covered, but after years spent living in a confined space with rambunctious teen boys prone to pranks, neither of them has ever gotten into the habit of sleeping nude. “I thought the expensive stuff was supposed to be, like, more comfortable or whatever? Fucking load of shit.”

Liam tries to hide his smirk, and kisses the disgruntled look off of Zayn’s face. They’d tried it, and it was fun, but Liam didn’t think it was a particularly necessary part for sex in the future.

“How much did you spend, anyway?” Liam situates their bodies so Zayn’s back is pressed to his chest, and wraps his arm around Zayn’s waist in the way they both like.

“Like, three thousand fucking pounds. I didn’t even think it was gonna fit, all the models look so tiny…” Liam hums, in reply, not even bothering to call attention to Zayn’s particularly trim waist.

They lay together for a while, talking about nothing, until they fall into a comfortable silence. Liam links their fingers together, and rubs his thumb over Zayn’s knuckles.

“I was thinking,” Liam says, interrupting the quiet, but not continuing. Zayn lets out a small ‘hm?’, beckoning him on, voice sleepy-sounding and content. “I was thinking, maybe we should go on a vacation? Just the two of us. Somewhere warm, with lots of sun, so we can both get a nice tan. What d’you think?”

Liam holds his breath, inexplicably nervous, and Zayn hums again. Liam kind of expects him to just let the moment pass. He’s practically asleep anyway, maybe he’ll just pretend this conversation never happened. Maybe they both can.

“I heard Bora Bora’s nice. Never been. Always wanted to go.” Zayn’s voice is slow and drawling, but he sounds serious. “We can go for my birthday, before it gets so cold our dicks fall off.” Zayn turns over, pressing his face into Liam’s chest so he can feel Zayn’s sleepy sigh on his skin. “We’ll look at tickets tomorrow. You’re better at all that stuff than me. I’d probably end up with shitty seats or summat…”

Liam tries to think of something nice to say, like he’s sure Zayn would book a great hotel, or that he loves Zayn so much that he thinks he might explode. But his throat is choked up, and before long Zayn is drifting off to sleep.

It’s not perfect, really, even though it feels like it at times. They still have things to work on. They're two complicated, slightly dysfunctional people trying to craft an uncomplicated and functional relationship. But, as he holds Zayn in his arms and thinks about how many blowjobs it'll take to actually get into the water at the beach, he thinks they can make it work.

**Author's Note:**

> Well! That happened. I'm not entirely sure how I feel about this, lol. It felt great while I was writing it, and then like with most things I write, I typed up the last sentence and went 'Eugh what even is this?'
> 
> But if one person enjoys this, I guess I've succeeded.
> 
> I had a lot of thoughts & feelings about their relationship, and how things play out behind closed doors - way more than I could add in the fic. So if you want a deeper look into my thoughts (and theirs in the fic), hit me up on my tumblr @ [@cryptidzayn](http://cryptidzayn.tumblr.com)
> 
> If you'd like a visual of what Zayn was wearing, the lingerie does actually exist, and I posted so visuals that you can see [here.](http://greenapplezollyrancher.tumblr.com/post/150141400738/visuals-for-counterpoint)
> 
> Thanks for reading! (:


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